


Doodlepad

by mogigraphia



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-20
Updated: 2013-01-20
Packaged: 2017-11-26 04:59:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 952
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/646825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mogigraphia/pseuds/mogigraphia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alright, so maybe Harry doesn't mind being drawn on terribly much.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Doodlepad

**Author's Note:**

> I wish I could explain myself.

Once upon a time, Harry said that he wouldn't have minded being a cat. It's funny, because if a vote was put to the remaining members of the band, they would probably tell anyone who cared to listen that Harry was already a cat in the body of a nineteen year old boy. He had the tendency to all but purr when pet, he wasn't opposed to a cuddle then and again but _on his terms_ , and if there was sunlight plus downtime, Harry could usually be found napping in it.

In Paris, or maybe Rome, or even been Brussels, there's a cushioned window seat with the late morning sun starting to warm it up and there's at least five hours until their radio interview daytime television or whatever is on the schedule for today, so when they all drop their bags Harry is making a beeline for it. He kicks off his shoes because his mum taught him manners ('Like cleaning up after myself and, and, picking my cast off hair out of the drain, _Niall_! I know this is yours, it's blonde!') and crawls up onto the pillowy surface, grumbling a little at the kinks still in his body after the long flight. Flopping around for a moment, he relaxes, and his brain blessedly shuts off as sweet sleep reaches out and takes him.

It's unclear how long he's out for, Harry wakes up briefly here and there as people move around him, or he hears the television switched on or Lou's laugh followed by a shush that's sure to have been Liam. What he does know is that he is woken in the middle of a sleep cycle (which he knows about thanks to Liam waxing poetic on the subject once when they'd been in the midst of Up All Night tour rehearsals and they were all like horses, standing and half-sleeping while technicians adjusted lights or set designers made last minute changes) because he can feel grogginess clinging to him with the grittiness of sand.

"Don't move." Harry's pretty sure he makes some new words that don't have a consonant to rub together at that directive, but somehow manages not to shove off whoever's decided it would be a fine idea to lay across his splayed open legs and midsection. "S'almost done, promise."

Harry squints his eyes open, and the sunlight is far too bright by now, and he feels fever hot and a little light headed and if he had to judge he would say it was sometime in the early afternoon. Blonde hair is way too close to his face and Harry makes more noises that sound vaguely like they could be words. After a moment, a croaky sentence makes its way out of his mouth.

"NnnwhatNiall?" Alright, so he never claimed to be Shakespeare.

"Jus', hold still." Niall's tongue is between his teeth and his face is slowly blotchy red and he's concentrating really hard; and Harry can't say anything else until he recognizes the slow drag of the permanent marker against his skin. As if sensing his movement, Niall reaches up and firmly presses his hand down against Harry's left shoulder and shifts his body weight a little more against his right, pushing his right arm up a little higher so he can get at it better with his Sharpie.

"You're not seriously drawing on me, Horan." An eyebrow raises on the blonde's face without looking away from his work, and alright, maybe that was a dumb question, but it was hard to think of anything else to say when you wake up to find your bandmate not only lying on you but also using you as his personal doodlepad.

"Was struck w' inspiration," Niall murmurs, and reaches up to pull Harry's skin a little so the tip of his marker won't skip and Harry can feel Niall's breath just under his chin and his hair is tickling his cheek and. "Untense your bicep, gonna ruin it." Harry thinks that's a fine demand to make when he's literally being laid on. "You'll like it. S'very you." Harry holds still, and the sunlight plus the noise of the street outside seeps in through the window, and he imagines he can hear the slow drag of the Sharpie on his skin. After an indeterminable amount of time, Harry can see the edge of Niall's grin before he leans up a little, enough that his breath is right in Harry's face rather than on his neck. Harry makes a face.

"Ta-daaaa..." Niall says softly, and Harry can see the glint of his braces as the light plays across his face and well. Harry worries the inside of his bottom lip with his teeth, and Niall pulls his arm up and twists it a little so he can see his handiwork. It's deceptively simple, a heart with all of their initials inside linked with plus signs, HS + LP + ZM + NH + LT. Harry cranks his head up a little, and he can see how Niall's made it look like his skin is wood, like Harry's a tree and someone's carved their initials into him. Maybe it's a little weird since it's lovers that're supposed to do that, but Niall's looking at him all expectant and excited and maybe even a little nervous, and Harry's heart maybe feels a little warmer against his will.

And if a few weeks later, maybe Harry has a heart shape tattooed on his arm and it's big and filled in and he can feel the Eyes of Judgment from Liam as he goes all Father Payne, but. Niall just grins like mad when he sees it, and it was well worth being a doodlepad.


End file.
